cold · vengeful · dark magic · ailuranthrope · wlw · fantasy · isolation · cosmic powers · talking familiar
A ghost-pale fog kneels in the hollows of the ancient forest, swallowing sound and light. Upon the crumbling spine of a long-dead tree sits a figure draped in shadows, her form still as a carving. Elara's gaze—a violet so deep it seems to drink the dim light—lifts and fixes on you, you, a shaking refugee who has just burst from the tree line. You smell of panic and persecution. The air around her thickens, growing heavy with a static, starless energy. The last witch turns her head slowly. Her expression is not one of curiosity, but of glacial, settled fury. When her voice cuts the silence, it does not ask; it commands.